Lessons from Native North Americans

Reading Elias Boudinot's An Address to the Whites, he used a scripture I hadn't read in awhile that is beautiful. He was the editor of the first Cherokee (and native American) newspaper. Unfortunately his eloquent words didn't prevent the genocide of his people. Also reading Chief Seattle's speech has some challenging confrontations to Christianity that still apply today to our actions in the world and the God we represent.

So, Chief Seattle's words, "Your God is not our God! Your God loves your people and hates mine. He fold shis strong rpotecting arms lovingly about the pale face and leads him by the hand as a father leads his infant son-- but He has forsake His red children... The white man's God cannot love our people or He would protect them. They seem to be orphans who can look nowhere for help. How then can we be brothers?"

Africa's been on my heart a lot lately, and I think that passage made me think if they would not ask the same question of God's existence and our "brotherhood" when we fail to be the representation of Christ to those in need. Last night I had a dream I was getting on the plane to go serve with YWAM there, maybe it was a premonition. :]

And the verse Boudinot quotes (in context) Acts 17:24-27, "He is the God who made the world and everything in it. Since he is Lord of heaven and earth, he doesn’t live in man-made temples, and human hands can’t serve his needs—for he has no needs. He himself gives life and breath to everything, and he satisfies every need. From one blood [one man] he created all the nations throughout the whole earth. He decided beforehand when they should rise and fall, and he determined their boundaries. His purpose was for the nations to seek after God and perhaps feel their way toward him and find him—though he is not far from any one of us." So beautiful.

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On a continued note, of Chief Seattle's Speech, I love these closing parts:

"Every part of this soil is sacred in the estimation of my people. Every hillside, every valley, every plan and grove, has been hallowed by some sad or happy event in days long vanished. Even the rocks, which seem to be dumb and dead as the swelter in the sun along hte silent shore, thrill writh memories of stirring events conneted with the lives of my people, and the very dust upon which you now stand responds more lovingly to their footsteps than yours, because it is rich with the blood of our ancestors and our bare feet are concious of the sympathetic touch. ... And when your children's children think themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the highway, or in the silence of the pathles woods, they will not be alone. In all the earth there is no place dedicated to solitude. At night when the streets of your cities and villages are silent and you think them deserted, they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled them and still love this beautiful land. ... for the dead are not powerless. Dead, did I say? There is no death, only a change of worlds."